


Colour my world

by smallvictories



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/No Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts (mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallvictories/pseuds/smallvictories
Summary: Without thinking, he finds himself standing in front of the closet and opening it. He’s past the point of no return. He needs this. He gets down on his hands and knees and shoves away piles of junk to reveal the decrepit shoebox where he keeps Jimmy and Saul’s lives tucked away.
Relationships: Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman/Kim Wexler
Comments: 21
Kudos: 40





	Colour my world

Gene arrives home exhausted, quickly stripping down to his boxer shorts, trying to rid himself of the stench of sugar and cinnamon. He never thought he could hate those smells as much he does now.

He groans, tossing his clothes carelessly on the couch and makes his way to the kitchen. One of these days, he thinks, he might finally have the guts to end this. He has nothing going for him at this point. The one thing he can count on is how nearly identical each day will be from one to the next. No more colourful clients of all shapes and sizes barging through his door, trying to get themselves out of crazy jams. Hell, at this point he misses all of it, even the times he was on the ground bleeding because one of his clients got a little _too_ colourful. His mind drifts for a moment as he opens the cupboard and reaches for his tequila (the cheap stuff of course, he’s Gene, not Saul). Speaking of colourful, whatever happened to Jesse Pinkman?

Gene white-knuckles the tequila bottle and crushes the thought as soon as it pops into his brain, because thinking about people from his past is a dangerous luxury that he can’t afford. If he thinks about one person, somehow they all link together in a chain that reaches so far back, he can hear the shadows in his head calling him _Jimmy_ again. But it’s too late, the links are snapping together, and the chain is dropping into a dark well. Jesse, Walt, Mike, Huell, Francesca, _Kim_.

He exhales shakily and carefully sets the bottle down on the counter. No, he can’t think about Kim and drink tequila in one night. His liver isn’t up to the challenge. He sighs and kneads his forehead with his knuckles, eyeing up the bottle. _No,_ he repeats to himself, _not this time._ Gene puts the bottle back in the cupboard and retreats to the living room.

God, it’s dull in here. He’s certain his home matches the rest of Nebraska, which is fine by him because he has to look the part. Colour is part of his past, just like…

He shakes his head and grabs the remote from the coffee table, flicking on the tv. He can’t focus on much these days beyond the mundane task of baking cinnamon rolls and slapping icing on them. The lack of stimulation has practically turned him into a different person, which is probably for the best. He drops into his recliner with a huff and stares listlessly as the weather anchor points at different symbols on a map and tells him how much colder it will be tomorrow than it was today. The cold bothers him a lot more here than it ever did in Cicero.

He grimaces and his fingers itch for something, and he knows it’s for a glass of liquor. He balls his hand into a fist and drops it to his side. He doesn’t have many outlets anymore. In fact, the last cigarette he ever smoked was tinged pink from her lipstick. Gene moans and drops his head in his hands. It’s going to be one of _those_ nights.

He pulls himself up from the chair and leaves the tv on for the noise. Without thinking, he finds himself standing in front of the closet and opening it. He’s past the point of no return. He _needs_ this. He gets down on his hands and knees and shoves away piles of junk to reveal the decrepit shoebox where he keeps Jimmy and Saul’s lives tucked away. He used to have an expensive, fire-proof safe built into the wall of his office, and now all he has is this. He scoffs at himself and drags the box out from its hiding place.

He slides off the lid and reaches beneath the stack of family photos, trying unsuccessfully to avoid them and catching a glimpse of his father’s face. His fingers close around a tattered envelope and he gently tugs it out before replacing the lid and sliding the shoebox back in the closet. He stands up and closes the door, clutching the envelope to his chest. _Still plenty of photos left_ he remembers Huell saying as he handed over the disposable camera.

Gene climbs the stairs to his bedroom mechanically, his heart pounding in his throat. So rarely does he allow himself this, it feels like a treat, even though he pays for it with lack of sleep for days afterward. He enters his room and lays down in bed, flicking on his bedside lamp. He opens the envelope and reaches inside, his breathing uneven. He sees a hint of blonde hair peeking up above the edge of the frayed paper. He slides the photos out quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, and sets the envelope aside on his nightstand.

She smiles down at him from his trembling hands and he’s overwhelmed in an instant by pure joy. That feeling when your heart expands and grows buoyant until you feel like you’re floating away. The kind of joy that catches in your throat and makes it hard to breathe, like you’ve been laughing too hard for too long. He flips over on his stomach, shoving his pillows out of the way to clear space.

Gene spreads out the photos, careful not to bend the edges. All at once, her face is looking back at him, multiples of her, different moments in time. He has to take a moment and close his eyes. He needs her, it eats at him like a cancer, every second of every day. He never stops thinking about her, she simply slips from the front of his mind to the back, then up to the front again, endlessly. Her name is a constant refrain in his mind, like an earworm he hopes will never fade.

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, his vision clouding with tears. He takes off his glasses and sets them on his nightstand, rubbing his face with the back of his hand, trying not to let any tears fall on the photos. Plenty of them already have small waves and dimples in the paper where old tears soaked through and dried.

He forces his gaze down to the photos strewn across his bed and it’s like staring at the sun. Life can’t exist without it, but it hurts to look for too long.

He reaches down and picks up the nearest photo. Kim looks at the camera, face frozen mid-laugh. She’s wearing his American Samoa sweatshirt and nothing else, modestly pulling it down with one hand between her legs to hide herself from the camera while the other hand holds a forkful of pad thai. He chokes out something halfway between a laugh and a sob as the memory comes back to him in living colour.

He’s standing by the counter, watching her walk to the couch with a takeout container in her hands, admiring the sway of her hips and the tantalizing way the sweater rides up as she moves. When she reaches the couch, she turns and throws him a glare that quickly turns into a grin.

“Are you _leering_ at me?” She accuses him, sitting down and opening her container, dipping the fork inside. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Yeah, I think I will!” Jimmy whips the camera out from behind his back.

She laughs, pulling the sweater down just as the camera flashes, and a second later the pad thai slips off her fork and hits the floor with a splat.

“Look what you did. Get over here and clean this up.” Kim grabs another bite and chews it with a satisfied grin on her face.

“Right away, ma’am!” Jimmy grabs the roll of paper towels from the counter and jogs to the couch, dropping on his hands and knees to wipe up the mess.

Kim giggles and hoists her legs up onto his back as he cleans up the floor.

Gene smiles tearfully at the memory and wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm, setting the photo aside and picking up another at random. It’s their marriage ceremony at the courthouse. They’re smiling into their kiss, his hands cupping the sides of her head and hers gripping his shoulders. He remembers he was incredulous, unable to believe that Kim went through with it.

His heart beats a little faster and he pinches his eyes shut. He recalls that morning as he dressed, filled with nervous energy. He was thinking about bringing his camera before the phrase _legal reasons_ made him push the thought away. He remembers how his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Huell take out a camera. He smiles and sets the photo aside, combing through several more of them kissing. These are the only photos of Kim he has and it’s all thanks to Huell. He wonders for a moment how Huell fared after – no. It’s no good to think about that now.

Another photo draws his eye and makes his breath catch in his throat. Their backs are to the camera as they make their way to the courthouse exit, blazing sunlight streaming through the doors and blurring all the edges, like in a dream. He remembers her walking ahead, confident he would follow like always, her ponytail swinging back and forth with each step. She was right of course; he would follow her anywhere (or at least he meant to). Funny how things never work out the way he plans.

He flips through several duds. A blurry picture of his fish, his thumb, the back of Kim’s head, his foot and part of the kitchen counter. He comes upon a photo Kim took. She had stolen the camera from him and sprinted away, letting out a surprised little shriek when he gave chase. He remembers catching her and throwing her on the bed, jumping on top of her. She smirked up at him and ran her hand over his chest before snapping the photo.

In the photo, Jimmy’s face is split in a wide, crooked smile as he stares down at Kim. Gene has a strange sensation pulling at his chest, a feeling that he’s looking at a stranger. As time goes on, it gets easier to view Jimmy and Saul as separate people. She’s the only real thing they all have in common. She’s been echoing around inside him since the day he first laid eyes on her, and changing his name isn’t going to silence her.

Gene drops the photo on the bedspread and gathers them all back into the envelope. He feels more cowardly than ever. These photos should be blown up and framed, hanging proudly on his walls. She should be here with him instead of lurking in the dusty corners of his mind. He put himself on a road a long time ago, not appreciating how lonely his destination would be.

Gene opens his nightstand drawer and drops the envelope inside. He really should be putting it back in his shoebox, and yet the foolish, sentimental part of him believes she’s somehow closer to him if he keeps the photos here for tonight. He flips over on his back and turns off the lamp. A dull blue light comes faintly from the hall along with the sound of the tv.

He stares up at the ceiling with silent tears running from the corners of his eyes as the last bit of colour fades away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading 🥰 Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> The title is inspired by a song of the same name by Chicago.
> 
> Check out [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallVictories/profile).


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